Showtime, Carrie murmured, as the big car made a right turn and pulled up at the metal stanchions that blocked the entrance to an underground garage. Next to the barrier was a guardhouse, where a man in a blue uniform and policetype cap stood as if he had an iron pipe rammed up his butt. Wyatt watched him. Usually these guys were relaxed, but the guards posture pegged him as being on edge.
As their car stopped, he stepped out.
Wyatt hadnt seen him before, but then, he hadnt seen a lot of the men assigned to security duty at this place.
Identification, please, the guard said to Joe Collins, the driver, who rolled down his window and reached into his pocket for the papers.
Wyatt had heard the request every time theyd arrived here, yet today something was just a bit offperhaps the hint of edginess in the mans voice or the way he had his cap pulled down low. That thought had barely crossed Wyatts mind when the man raised his arm, aiming an automatic pistol toward
the open window of the car.
Acting on instinct and experience, Wyatt pushed Carrie down, blocking her body with his as he pulled out his own weapon and wrenched himself around to face the guard.
He was a split second too late to prevent disaster.
Joe went down in a spray of blood. Wyatt fired at the bogus guard, striking him in the chest and knocking him backward into the glass booth. But undoubtedly, he wasnt the only threat. Before the man hit the ground, Wyatt lunged across the car and opened the opposite door, pushing Carrie out ahead of him.
She gasped as she came down on the hard cement of the driveway.
Sorry. Weve got to get the hell out of here, but not onto the street.
Looking up, he confirmed that assessment as he saw eight armed men racing down the driveway toward themmen who didnt look like cops or security guards.
Carrie followed his gaze, gasping as she took in the situation.
Grabbing her hand, he helped her up, leading her toward the right and behind a row of cars in the garage, giving them some cover. But he was badly outnumbered and outgunned. He wasnt going to shoot it out with these guys in the garage if he could help it.
This way.
Hed studied the layout of the building, and he hurried her along the wall and around a corner to a service door and was relieved to find it unlocked.
We have to call the police, she whispered when the door closed behind them.
No. We cant trust the police or anyone else. Somebody gave up the meeting.
As he spoke, he considered their options. Going down would trap them in the lower floors of the garage. Which left only one alternative.
Were going up.
They had just reached the third level when Wyatt heard gunfire blasting below.
He led Carrie through a door into the building, then pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed the safe house.
Gary Blain answered. Wyatt? Is something wrong?
Yeah. Were in the building where Carrie was supposed to meet the prosecutor. Somehow the terrorists knew we were coming.
Is she all right?
Yes. But there are shooters in here.
Where are you?
Near the south stairwell. Armed men were blocking the garage entrance. Can you pick us up on the roof?
Negative. Unless we get clearance for a helo flight into D.C.
Wyatt answered with a curse.
A burst of gunfire from below interrupted the conversation.
Gotta go.
He led Carrie down the hall to another stairwell then up two more levels. He was pretty sure the attackers had thought theyd get him and Carrie in the garage, which meant they probably hadnt stationed anyone up here. Yet.
Cautiously he opened the door and looked out into the hallway. Nothing was movingparticularly the dead body lying in a pool of blood in the center of the tile floor.
When he hesitated, Carrie pressed against his back and looked over his shoulder.
Oh, God, she breathed as she gazed at Skip Gunderson, the Federal prosecutor shed been coming to meet.
We cant stay here, Wyatt said.
But when he glanced back at Carrie, he saw the blood had drained from her face and she had gone stock-still.
Carrie!
Her gaze stayed on Gunderson. We have to she whispered.
He gripped her arm, squeezing hard. Im sorry, but theres nothing you can do for him now.
When she still didnt move, he tugged on her arm. Come on. Before we end up the same way.
He watched her expression harden as she shook herself into action and let him lead her down the hall, although she kept looking back.
This is my fault, she said, as he tried to determine the best place to hide.
Youre not responsible.
She made a snorting sound. Of course I am. He was here to meet me.
Because he was doing his job. Maybe you should blame the building security for letting terrorists in here. Or whoever leaked the meeting information.
He hurried Carrie down the hall, opening doors as they went. Most led to small offices, but one was larger, which had the potential for more hiding places. He stepped inside, looking around. The blinds were partially closed, which would give them more cover. Crouching behind the broad wooden desk was too obvious, but a bank of storage cabinets blocked the view from the door.